


hero's soup

by mytremblingfingertips



Category: ATEEZ (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Awkward Conversations, Blow Jobs, Confessions, Crushes, Face-Fucking, Fluff, Getting Together, Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, M/M, Pining, Shamelessly Un-betaed, Smut, and also a simp, but we love him anyway, it's there for like two seconds dw, san is horny, slight angst, wooyoung is sick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:35:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26938264
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mytremblingfingertips/pseuds/mytremblingfingertips
Summary: It really seemed like nothing (everything?) was going San’s way that day, but he couldn’t imagine a better outcome, if only his mouth would work long enough to get him there. He cleared his throat. “I mean, that’d be great.”He saw the way Wooyoung’s spine straightened. “You sure?”“God, yeah.”~or; san gets a text from a very sick wooyoung asking for soup, and who is san to deny him?
Relationships: Choi San/Jung Wooyoung
Comments: 12
Kudos: 196





	hero's soup

**Author's Note:**

> (yes, i named this after the skz song. no, this has nothing to do with the skz song.)
> 
> i've noticed a severe lack of ateez sick fics, and this is my contribution to fix that. tbh, there isn't much of the usual "taking care of the other" in here, but once i started writing it one way i couldn't stop lol. regardless, pls enjoy! ;)

San squinted at the address in his phone, alternating his gaze between it and the number on the door in front of him. Sure enough, they matched, just like they did the past three times he’d checked, but San quintuple checked regardless, doing anything in his power to postpone the dreaded inevitable. 

He knew he was being dramatic, that much was clear from the lengths he’d already gone to on his way over. He’d retied his shoelaces twice (so he wouldn’t trip on the stairs), stopped for coffee (he hadn’t had it yet!), and circled the apartment complex for thirteen minutes before entering (and, really, he couldn’t even begin to justify that), but, finally, there he stood, with no excuses left and heart pounding.

It wasn’t like San was _afraid_ of what was behind that door. It wouldn’t hurt him, wouldn’t leave him bloody and bruised and crawling his way back down the apartment hall, but it might just be a bit too much for his simple heart to handle.

Because Wooyoung was behind that door. Wooyoung, who was sick with the worst cold he’d ever had. Poor Wooyoung, who had texted San, practically begging for chicken soup and a comforting hand. Poor, sweet, funny, beautiful Wooyoung, who San had been in love with for over a year now.

Wooyoung was behind that door, and San was not dealing.

Part of him felt guilty for taking his time. Despite his undeniable feelings for the boy, they didn’t actually know each other all that well. They’d met during Chemistry their freshman year, hitting it off about as well as lab partners could, but hadn’t kept in contact much since then. Sure, they saw each other once in a while, what with all their mutual friends, but their conversations were always short and polite, and their texts even more so.

So imagine San’s surprise when his phone lit up with Wooyoung’s name, an apartment address, and a _lengthy_ request for soup and cuddles. Reading it had made San’s heart drop with pity. He couldn’t remember the last time they’d high fived, let alone _cuddled_ , but Wooyoung must’ve been desperate, and San wasn’t about to deny him.

Unfortunately, that was proving to be easier said than done. San didn’t know the first thing about soup, and even less about making it. After warring with himself for several minutes about the benefits of home cooked meals vs the travesty that was his culinary skills, he’d opted for takeout, grabbing some chicken noodle from the local deli before heading to Wooyoung’s. But now it sat, cooling in its plastic container at the bottom of San’s backpack, as he warred yet again. To knock or not to knock, that is the question.

The answer, of course, was to knock. He’d be an asshole not to, and so he did, raising one fist and rapping quickly against the heavy wood.

There was a great deal of shuffling behind the door, audible through its cheap hinges, before it opened and, consequently, San’s soul left his body. 

Wooyoung stood wrapped in a fuzzy blanket, rubbing his eyes slowly with closed fists. His dark hair was mussed, sweat making it stick to his forehead in pitiful little patterns. He looked almost childlike, adorable in a way only sick people can, or at least he would if not for the fact he was almost completely naked, save for a pair of blue boxer shorts. San suddenly felt the urge to look up the symptoms for a heart attack because he was fairly certain he was having one.

“Fucking finally,” Wooyoung said, blinking his bleary eyes. “I’ve been dying in here for…” He trailed off, scanning San up and down. He frowned. “You’re not Yeosang."

San didn’t know what to say. “Correct.”

“What are you doing here?”

“You texted me.” San said, waving his phone around for the full effect.

Wooyoung sniffed, furrowed his brow, and drew the blanket further around himself. “Hold on a second,” he said, and promptly shut the door.

Well. That was certainly a reaction.

A minute passed. San shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, trying to ease the nervous energy in his spine. Should he leave? It was evident enough that he wasn’t the person Wooyoung had expected, but would that make it rude of him to just go? He didn’t want to take off when Wooyoung would be back in a minute, but if Wooyoung had never wanted him there in the first place… He had just about made up his mind to turn and leave when Wooyoung opened the door again, blanket ditched and thankfully(?) wearing pajama pants and a t-shirt.

“It was an accident,” he said, running a hand through his hair and stating the obvious. “I meant to text Yeosang, but I guess I texted you. Sorry for making you come all the way out here.”

San shook his head slightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

Wooyoung sniffed again. The air hung thick between them. If San had a knife, he bet he could cut it.

“Well, I’ll see you later then?” Wooyoung said after a horrifically long time.

“Yeah, I’ll see you. I, uh, hope you feel better.” San raised his hand in a half-wave, half-finger gun type motion then cringed inwardly at the gesture.

“Right, thanks.” Wooyoung nodded and went to shut the door, but just before it closed, San remembered something.

“Wait!” He called, reaching a palm out to stop the door. Wooyoung paused, and looked at him curiously, expecting. San dropped to one knee and slung his backpack onto the ground, quickly unzipping it and pulling out the plastic cup of chicken noodle. 

Wooyoung’s eyes widened. “You actually brought soup.”

“You did ask for it,” San said, getting only a little defensive.

“I wasn’t being seri— ” Wooyoung took a deep breath through his nose. “Thank you, San.” He reached out and grabbed the soup from San’s offering hand, then, after visibly debating for a moment, said “If you want, you can come in and share. You did pay for it after all.” His voice was wet, thick with congestion, and San felt a pang of sympathy at the sound of it. 

San got up, grabbing his backpack and brushing off the knees of his jeans. “Sure.” He said and, before he could stop it, added “I’d love to.”

Wooyoung smiled slightly, stepped aside, and gestured into his apartment. He held the door open, and San graciously moved past him into the living space.

It was small, cozy, albeit rather messy, but, from what San could see, he could understand why. There were tissues scattered around, an assortment of cough-drop wrappers littering the coffee table and surrounding floor. Several blankets were strewn haphazardly over the couch which, by the look of it, had been dragged across the rug to sit in front of the room’s only heating vent. If San’d had any doubts about Wooyoung’s condition, he certainly didn’t anymore.

“Sorry for the mess,” Wooyoung said, putting down the soup and rushing to pick up some of the clutter.

“It’s fine, I get it,” San said, because he really did. “I’m sure you’re a perfectly neat person normally.”

Wooyoung stooped to grab a dirty mug from under the couch and let out a laugh. “You can believe whatever you want, I won’t stop you, although,” he paused, sitting back on his heels, mug successfully in hand, “if I’m neat, then I worry for your apartment.”

San scoffed. “I’ll have you know, my apartment is _fine_ , thanks. And hey, your _notes_ were always pretty neat,” he offered, thinking back to their freshman year.

“Yeah, well, I would’ve failed otherwise.” Something unpleasant crossed Wooyoung’s face as he looked down at the chipped mug in his hands.

San frowned. “You always do that.”

Wooyoung looked up, face shifting to confusion. “Do what?”

“Sell yourself short.” San said, striding to sit on the armrest closest to Wooyoung. He placed a stiff hand on Wooyoung’s shoulder, cringing once again at the awkwardness of it, but continuing nonetheless. “You’re a lot smarter than you think you are.”

Wooyoung gave San’s hand a weird look, but then smiled softly. “Thanks, but it’s okay.”

San tightened his grip. “I’m not gonna let y—”

“Seriously San, it’s fine.” Wooyoung said, meeting San’s eyes with a startling amount of resolve. “I know what I’m capable of. I may not be the smartest, but that’s okay. I’ve got other things I’m good at, and those are more important to me than chemistry.” He chuckled and patted San’s hand, still stubbornly glued to his shoulder. “Trust me, I’m not insecure, I’m just...” he paused, “realistic.”

San blinked, taken aback. “Wow, Wooyoung that was… surprisingly profound.”

Wooyoung laughed, loud and full, and said “Oh, what, a dumb guy can’t say something profound every once in a while?”

“You’re not dumb!” San said, finally pulling his hand free to gesture pointedly at Wooyoung, who only laughed harder. “You literally just said you weren’t.”

“No, I said I have other things I’m good at, not that I wasn’t dumb.”

San dropped his hand, looking out and away in defeat. If Wooyoung was one thing it was stubborn, so he let the matter drop. “Okay, fine, fine. You’re dumb.” Wooyoung gave him an approving nod. “But I wanna know what those other things are.” San said, crossing his arms. He wasn’t about to let this conversation end on anything other than a positive note.

Wooyoung tilted his head and thought for a moment, bringing his lower lip into his mouth and chewing. “Well, I’m sexy, for one.”

San choked.

“Are you disagreeing with me?” Wooyoung asked, eyes narrowed and mug raised threateningly.

“No! No, I…” He stuttered, waving his hands cartoonishly. San took a deep breath, collecting himself. “I just wasn’t aware ‘sexy’ was something a person could be good at.”

Wooyoung lowered the mug and pouted playfully. “Sannie, I’m disappointed in you. I figured you of all people would know.”

And man, if San wasn’t prepared for that. He felt blood rush both to his face and somewhere else that it probably shouldn’t, but if Wooyoung was implying what San thought he was implying, then, really, he couldn’t be blamed.

Wooyoung laughed, oblivious (or, more likely, creully indifferent) to San’s predicament, and stood, looking San in the eye. “You’re cute when you’re flustered.”

In that moment San took back every nice thing he’d ever said about Wooyoung. The man was a menace. He could not be trusted. Coming here was a stupid, terrible idea, and he never should’ve done it. He should’ve been at home studying, or watching TV, or doing literally anything other than sitting on his crush’s couch trying to stifle a fucking boner because, apparently, he was so sexually frustrated that two measley compliments was all it took to get his blood pumping. 

“I think the soup’s getting cold,” San said in a desperate, pitiful attempt to change the subject.

“Ah! You’re right, I totally forgot.” Wooyoung said, way too nonchalantly for San’s liking, and crossed to the counter where he had left the container. He began to open it, but then stopped. “Can you microwave this? I don’t wanna get my sick hands all over it if you’re gonna eat it too.”

“Y-yeah sure,” San said, rising slowly, still not fully recovered. He walked over, grabbed the container, and entered the tiny kitchen, purposely facing his hips _away_ from Wooyoung as he went. He set the microwave for two minutes, then waited, bitterly watching the soup turn behind the thick glass. _This is all your fault._

“Hey, buddy, unless you’ve got some sort of laser vision you haven’t told me about, I don’t think glaring at it is gonna heat it up any faster,” Wooyoung called from where he was setting some bowls on the coffee table. 

San ignored him. 

Eventually, the microwave finished with a beep, and San brought the container back to the living room where Wooyoung was seated in front of the TV, fiddling with the DVD player.

“I figured,” Wooyoung said, finally seeming to get it to work, “we could watch a movie. Normally I’d prefer talking, but I’m not feeling that great so…” He trailed off, turning to look back at San who had taken a seat on the couch. “That cool with you?”

San nodded. “S’fine.”

“Cool. We’re watching Return of the King.” Wooyoung sat next to San, pouring himself some soup and pulling a blanket over his lap. He wiggled cutely, trying to get comfortable, and San smiled fondly. Curse his weak human heart.

“Why Return of the King? Wouldn’t Fellowship be better?” San asked, copying the other (without the wiggle, mind you.)

Wooyoung pulled a face. “Fellowship is boring.”

“And I’m leaving. It’s been nice seeing you again.” San moved to get up, but Wooyoung grabbed his arm and yanked him back down. As he did, the hot soup sloshed out of the bowl and onto San’s shirt, all but drenching him.

“Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?” Wooyoung said, eyes wide with alarm. “Did it burn you?”

San leaned to set the bowl down, now considerably less full than it was before, and winced. The skin on his stomach was starting to tingle. “Yeah, a little, I think.”

Wooyoung’s face fell, guilt immediately washing over his features. “I’m so sorry,” he repeated, standing slowly.

“It was an accident, it’s okay,” San said. He grimaced, his shirt clinging, hot and sticky to his abdomen. “I should probably, um, change.”

“Right! Right, yeah, here let me…” Wooyoung shuffled forward and grabbed the hem of San’s shirt. There was a brief moment where their eyes met, their faces barely a foot apart, and San’s face flushed. He thought he saw a glint of something more in the other’s gaze, a certain heavy intensity that San couldn’t place, but then Wooyoung was peeling the fabric away from San’s stomach and carefully lifting it over his head, breaking the spell. San wriggled out of the sleeves, pointedly ignoring his rapidly beating heart in favor of ignoring the growing pain on his torso.

“You should take a cold shower or something,” Wooyoung said, avoiding eye contact and fiddling with the wet shirt in his hands. “To help with…” He gestured vaguely to San’s bare chest, still refusing to look at him. “The bathroom’s that way.”

San nodded, the absurdity of the situation striking him dumb, and headed in that direction.

Relying solely on autopilot, San closed the door to the bathroom, shuffled out of his pants and underwear, turned on the water, and climbed into the shower. 

Immediately, he began to feel better. The cold stream was lovely against his stomach, soothing to the red hot skin as it washed away any residual broth. San breathed deeply, taking in the smell of Wooyoung’s Cedar Wood body wash, and let himself think.

This encounter was turning out much differently than he had expected.

Firstly, Wooyoung had contacted him by accident, which, yeah, makes sense given Wooyoung’s attention to detail (or rather, lack thereof.) But then inviting him to stay anyway? San just couldn’t wrap his head around it. _Maybe he wants to spend time with you,_ supplied something hopeful from the back of his brain. _Maybe he likes you,_ it said, but San quickly squashed it. He couldn’t afford to think things like that, not like this. Not when Wooyoung was only a paper thin wall away. Not when he could clearly see Wooyoung’s Cedar Wood body wash on the shower wall.

Not when Wooyoung had stood so close, San’s shirt in hand, and looked at him like _that._

San groaned, his body heating up considerably despite the icy water pouring over his shoulders and the objection of the sensible half of his brain. Of all the places to get a boner though, he reasoned, the shower wasn’t a bad one. With this thought in mind, he reached down, ghosted his hand over his hip and towards his dick. Surely, if he was quiet…

No. No. Absolutely not. He was not going to jack off in his crush’s shower. San was by no means a holy man, but there were lines even he wouldn’t cross. He wrenched the shower handle as far left as it could go, forcing the water impossibly colder, thankfully dulling the throbbing between his legs. It wasn’t gone, but it would be enough, or so San hoped.

After another minute or two under the stream, he shut the water off and stepped out, then grabbed a towel from the rack and patted himself dry, taking extra care around his midsection. The skin there was splotchy and red, but not too tender, which was a good sign. It didn’t feel too bad, all things considering, but San made a mental note not to wear any tight fitting shirts for the next few days. 

Speaking of which, he didn’t have a shirt now.

He slipped back into his surprisingly soupless jeans then poked his head out the door, glancing around for a moment. He spotten Wooyoung crouched on the floor of the living room, furiously drying the rug with takeout napkins. San cleared his throat. “Hey, Wooyoung?”

“Your shirt’s in the wash,” Wooyoung answered despite not knowing the question. He went back to cleaning, a little more aggressively now.

San nodded. “Okay, thanks. Uh…”

“You can borrow one of mine if you want, or you could just go without. It’s up to you.”

Lord have mercy on him. Both options sounded deliciously wonderful to San, but at the same time horrifyingly bad. On the one hand, he’d get to wear Wooyoung’s shirt, a dream for him, but a nightmare for the issue he’d literallly just taken care of in the shower. On the other hand, he’d be shirtless in front of Wooyoung, which San didn’t know _what_ to think about. He pondered, stumped, before coming to terms with the fact that wearing Wooyoung’s shirt, i.e. being cocooned in that stupidly attractive Cedar Wood scent, would be too much for his heart (and his dick) to bear. He sighed in defeat and shrugged. “I’ll be fine like this.”

“Alrighty then, Casanova. Whatever floats your boat.” Wooyoung said as he scrubbed viciously at the rug, the poor napkin in his hand tearing away at the fibers.

“You’re really going for it, huh?” San said, moving from the bathroom door to stand behind Wooyoung’s crouched frame.

Wooyoung kept rubbing, his eyebrows furrowed and gaze focused. He paused for a moment, swallowed, then replied, “It was my grandmother’s, I don’t want it to stain.”

San, deciding against pointing out the myriad of stains already on the rug, simply hummed and watched as Wooyoung tossed the napkin in favor of scraping his thumb nail over the material, trying to pick off the dried flakes of soup to little avail. It hurt San to watch, especially knowing that he was partly to blame, so he kneeled across from Wooyoung and began to help.

They worked in silence, their nails dragging across the worn threads with gentle motions. It was far from dignified, but they were already beginning to see the fruit of their efforts, the cream colored rug slowly returning to its original hand-me-down glory. As the minutes passed, Wooyoung seemed to get lost in the monotony, his eyes glazing over with something unreadable, so San began to indulge himself.

He let his gaze wander over the other’s handsome features: a sharp jaw, round cheeks, full lips narrowed in concentration. The tip of his nose was red, probably from the cheap, generic brand tissues littering the floor around them, which made San want to laugh and also maybe cry. So instead he just focused on Wooyoung’s eyes, bright like the stars they held.

For the first time that day, San noticed Wooyoung wasn’t wearing contacts, his eyes their natural dark brown. It wasn’t so unusual, Wooyoung couldn’t wear them more than three days in a row, always whining about how dry his eyes would get, but San marveled in the view anyway, relishing the rich chocolate of his irises. Wooyoung could tell him to drown in those eyes, and San would only say “how long?”

But even so, every once in a while, San would stop and stare at Wooyoung’s hands. Whether or not it was intentional, he couldn’t say, but they had a magnetic presence to them, like every single movement had a purpose, a destination and a road to get there.

That was something San could never understand about Wooyoung — his unwavering confidence. The boy just couldn’t seem to be bothered with fear, thrusting his chin in the air and proclaiming _I'm here. I'm me. Fucking deal with it._ San had seen that confidence, been drawn to it, before they’d ever even met. He’d watched as Wooyoung would sprint across the quad, cutting through the grass and jumping over signs that told him ‘No.’ He’d laughed as Wooyoung would get the answer wrong again, and again, and again. He’d even had the audacity to ask Wooyoung things like “Why can’t you just get this right?” 

But he had never laughed on test day. Not once. Not when Wooyoung would hold up his B minus, eyes sparkling, and say “Are you proud of me, Sannie?”

San would always answer yes.

And every single time, he’d fallen a little more in love. 

That was two years ago, and after all that time San’s feelings had never wavered. And now there he was, sitting on the floor across from that same fearless boy, scraping dried chicken noodle soup off of a rug. The universe truly worked in mysterious ways.

Eventually Wooyoung leaned back, scanning his eyes over the rug’s surface, and sighed. “I guess that’s as good as it’s getting.” He pushed up off the ground, dissatisfaction in his eyes as he stood and scooped up the worn napkins, walking them to the trash can. San couldn’t help but feel a twinge of sympathy for the other, wondering just how much the rug meant to him, if anything at all. It was strange. There were plenty of other stains on it, and, as far as San knew, Wooyoung had never been a material person. San couldn’t shake the feeling that maybe there was something else wrong, but he couldn’t imagine what. He tried to think of something to say, a way to ask what was really the problem, but nothing felt right, the unfitting words dying in his throat as he got up to stretch his stiff ankles. 

He didn’t have to say anything, though, Wooyoung was already speaking.

“You can leave if you want,” he said, devastating San in one clean hit. “This can’t have been any fun for you.”

San scrambled briefly, thoughts a mess because _everything is fun with you_. Who cared if he’d gotten burned by hot soup? Who cared if there was fresh dirt under his fingernails? He’d been with Wooyoung, and that was enough. Maybe it shouldn’t have been, maybe he should’ve gone sprinting for the hills the minute the broth touched his shirt, but love was nothing if not strange, and San was having the time of his life, so he told Wooyoung as much.

Wooyoung looked at him like he’d grown a third arm. “What?”

“Ok, well,” San said, sheepishly running his fingers through his still-wet hair, “maybe ' _t_ _ime of my life_ ’ is a bit strong, but you’re fun to be around, Wooyoung. I like spending time with you.”

San didn’t know where all this new-found confidence was coming from, but with the way Wooyoung was looking at him now, gaze shining and mouth lifted, San didn’t care.

Wooyoung sniffed, rubbing his nose lightly, and smiled. “Thanks. I like spending time with you too.”

Their eyes met briefly, the moment saying too much and not enough, before Wooyoung coughed and it was broken. San looked away quickly. He didn’t want to get his hopes up. 

“So...” San said, gesturing vaguely to the couch. “Fellowship?”

Wooyoung nodded, rolling his eyes and crossing to kneel in front of the TV. “Fine, but _only_ because I spilled soup on you.” He replaced the old DVD with the new, _far superior_ one then settled next to where San had seated himself on the cushions. “But next time we’re watching Return of the King.”

San’s heart soared. _Next time._

“Yeah,” he said, forcing his wide grin into something reasonable, “I could deal with that.”

—

About thirty minutes into the movie, the AC turned on.

San shivered, the bare skin of his chest prickling under the cool airflow. His hair had mostly dried, but the slightly damp strands at the base of his skull clung to his neck, sending unpleasant tingles down his spine. 

Wooyoung must’ve noticed the way he tensed, pulling a threadbare quilt off the back of the couch and over their laps, but, while San appreciated the gesture, it wasn’t enough. The chill wind still blew across his exposed arms, and San suddenly wished that he had accepted Wooyoung’s offer of a shirt.

“Is there another— oh, thanks,” San said as Wooyoung grabbed a second blanket, this one much fluffier, and tucked it behind both their shoulders, reading San’s mind for the second time that day. Immediately, San felt warmer, the soft material blocking the onslaught of cold air. He snuggled deeper into the couch cushions, getting cozy as the next scene started to play. Wooyoung did the same, shifting closer to San so that the small blanket wrapped around them more comfortably, shoulders and thighs brushing lightly. Despite the blasting AC, San began to feel hot.

—

After an hour, Wooyoung fell asleep.

Under normal conditions, San would’ve been offended, but at the moment, he had something else on his mind.

Sometime between jumping on the ferry and arriving in Rivendell, Wooyoung’s head had slipped, landing first on San’s shoulder, then slowly inching down to where it now rested in his lap. Wooyoung’s soft lips were parted slightly, breath leaving them in steady pulses, the quiet sound somehow ringing in San’s ears. His t-shirt had slipped revealing a little of his collarbone and the pale, smooth column of his neck. San’s mouth went dry, and he had to fight to keep his eyes off the inviting skin.

If someone had asked San what was happening in the movie, he couldn’t have said, because every ounce of his willpower was focused on not popping another boner.

_Think about unsexy things_ , his brain unhelpfully supplied. _Orcs, chicken noodle soup, Wooyoung's hands touching your leg right now_.

He groaned, letting his chin drop to his chest. This was going to be a long movie.

—

Two hours later, and San was no longer an atheist.

He must’ve prayed to every god in existence twice, and, by some holy miracle, managed to keep it in his pants. Mission: Cleared. Crisis: Averted. Honestly, he was proud of himself.

As the end credits began to roll, San nudged Wooyoung’s shoulder lightly. “Hey,” he said softly, “movie’s over.”

Wooyoung mumbled something unintelligible, and nuzzled further into San’s thigh. 

Shit.

“C’mon, man. You gotta get up,” San insisted, a little more desperately, because as each moment passed, he rocketed closer and closer back to Crisis: No-Longer-Averted.

Wooyoung paid his plea no mind, opting instead to turn and nose at San’s stomach, which was doing backflips like no tomorrow. 

In a final act of panic, San shook Wooyoung’s side quickly, praying to his new-found gods that he’d wake up. Fortunately, the gods were on his side. Wooyoung blinked his eyes blearily, reaching one hand up to rub his stuffy nose. He looked unfairly good, face flushed and hair messy, lips soft with sleep, and San felt the last of his resolve drop away. The gods may have been on San’s side, but unfortunately, his dick was not.

He felt himself getting hard, and, apparently, so did Wooyoung.

“Are you seriously turned on right now?” Wooyoung said, staring up at San incredulously from his lap, eyes shifting from his face to his dick and back again.

There was really no point in denying it now. “I— yes,” San said, looking away as hot shame flooded his system.

“Why?”

San squeezed his eyes shut, dropping his head onto the back of the couch. Wooyoung was still in his lap, staring at him with those wide brown eyes, and it was not making his situation any easier. “Don’t make me say it,” San whined.

Wooyoung snickered. “Why wouldn’t you want to…? Oh! Oh.”

San felt the couch shift, the weight of Wooyoung’s head finally, _finally,_ disappearing off his lap. _Too little, too late,_ he thought sullenly. He grimaced but refused to open his eyes, not ready to see the look of disgust that was surely on Wooyoung’s face. 

“San, look at me.”

Well, so much for that idea. He peeked his eyes open the tiniest bit, preparing for the worst, when, to his surprise, he found that Wooyoung wasn’t looking at him at all.

Instead, his eyes were downcast, a faint blush dusting his cheeks as he fiddled with the hem of his pajama pants. He cleared his throat once, twice, then began to speak, only to shut his mouth and curl further into himself.

It was strange seeing Wooyoung like this, so small and self-cautious, and San hated to think that he was the cause of it. He steeled himself, ready to walk out the door and never come back if that was what Wooyoung wanted. “If I made you uncomfortable, I’m really sorry. I can leave—” San began slowly, but Wooyoung rapidly shook his head, still looking downwards.

“It’s not that, I was just... just… ugh!” Wooyoung said, dropping his head into his hands, at a loss for words. “God, why can’t I— You’re bi right?” He met San’s gaze with an impossible mixture of confidence and apprehension.

San raised an eyebrow. “Yeah.”

“So you wouldn’t mind if I... if I wanted to... y’know...” He paused, swallowed, looked at his hands, looked at San’s crotch, looked back to meet San’s eyes. “Help.”

San’s brain short circuited. His eyes went wide.

“Of course you can totally say no! I was just offering, in case— Y’know what? Forget it, don’t worry about it, I didn’t say anything,” Wooyoung rambled, hands flying as he tried to explain himself.

“No!” San blurted.

Wooyoung glanced up at him through the fringe of his bangs, shrinking impossibly smaller. “No..?” he mumbled, voice quiet.

It really seemed like nothing (everything?) was going San’s way that day, but he couldn’t imagine a better outcome, if only his mouth would work long enough to get him there. He cleared his throat. “I mean, that’d be great.”

He saw the way Wooyoung’s spine straightened. “You sure?”

It felt like there was a dam between them, cracking under the thick tension, one word away from breaking and sending them careening into the ocean. The air was heavy, the way it got just before a storm, like the atmosphere was holding its breath with anticipation.

“God, yeah.”

Wooyoung smiled, then, gaining back some of the confidence San knew and loved, climbed into San’s lap, knees straddling his hips, soft hands coming to rest on his bare shoulders. He leaned in close, and giggled lightly when San’s breath hitched. “Well then, how do you wanna do this Sannie?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

He didn’t even have to think. “Kiss me?” San said, because as much as his dick was screaming at him, he was a romantic at heart

San watched as Wooyoung’s gaze flickered to San’s mouth, then back up again to his eyes. He grinned. “Thought you’d never ask.”

And just like that, the dam burst.

Wooyoung’s lips were soft and practiced, peaking and crashing like waves against his own. The kiss wasn’t frantic, the way San had expected it to be, but it was so much better, deeper than he ever could’ve imagined. He could feel every crack in the other boy’s lips, every tickle of breath on his cheeks and he lived for it, loving the way their bodies slotted together. San’s hands slid up Wooyoung’s thighs to land at his waist, relishing in how the soft flesh gave way under his fingers and earning a small groan in return.

San could feel his nerves light on fire as Wooyoung dragged his hands up his neck, cupping his jaw lightly with one hand, and gripping his hair with the other. It was sweet, and mean, and so, so _good,_ and San couldn’t get enough, drawing Wooyoung's body ever closer. 

His nipples rubbed against the soft cotton of Wooyoung’s shirt, and he opened his mouth in a quiet moan, letting Wooyoung, never one to waste an opportunity, tilt his head and slide his tongue further down San’s throat.

Everything was messy, spit smeared across both their faces in their desperation, but, god, San loved it, unable to stay quiet as Wooyoung gripped his hair tighter and grinded down in San’s lap.

Whatever inhibitions San might’ve had were long gone, desire quickly overcoming anything else in his brain. “Off,” He huffed in between kisses, tugging at the bottom of Wooyoung’s shirt, trying to keep the impatience from his tone.

Thankfully, Wooyoung obliged with fervor, tearing it over his head with a vengeance. As soon as it was off, he dove back in to capture San’s mouth, flinging the shirt carelessly across the room with one hand and fisting San’s hair with the other.

Wooyoung’s bare chest was flushed red and splotchy with the heat, but gorgeous nonetheless, and San revelled in it. He trailed open-mouthed kisses down Wooyoung’s jaw and neck, working his way down until he was mouthing at Wooyoung’s collarbone, laving the sweaty skin with his tongue. Hearing Wooyoung’s sigh above him was all the encouragement he needed to pull the supple flesh between his teeth and suck, dark red blooming in his wake. 

“Fuck,” Wooyoung whispered, rolling his hips down to meet San’s. 

Hot pleasure shot through San’s legs at the friction, leaving him buzzing with desire. He could tell Wooyoung was getting hard, the outline of his cock visible through his thin pajama pants, and he smiled with pride, his lips tracing patterns along Wooyoung’s skin.

San’s hands circled from where they had been gripping Wooyoung’s thighs to his ass, kneading the supple flesh greedily. He had guiltily imagined what it would feel like before, driven to near-insanity one too many times by Wooyoung’s liking for tight pants, but nothing could compare to the real thing, soft and toned beneath his palms.

“You like that?” San murmured as Wooyoung writhed above him, listening as he let out a high pitched moan.

Wooyoung only nodded, grinding even harder against San, both of his hands gripping San’s hair and pulling tight. “God, Sannie,” he said, almost breathless, “touch me, please.”

San didn’t lift his head, choosing instead to trail kisses down Wooyoung’s lean chest. “I am touching you though.” He teased, taking a nipple into his mouth and pressing the flat of his tongue against it. 

“San, I swear to god.” Wooyoung whined, and San smirked, savoring the way Wooyoung had to choke back another moan to say it. 

“You gotta be specific, baby.” 

Wooyoung scoffed, incredulous, but never stopped moving his hips, his tone getting desperate. “You can’t be serious.”

San laughed and switched to the other nipple, rolling it between his teeth gently. “I have never been more serious in my life.” 

“If you do not get your hand down my pants in the next twenty seconds, I will— oh fuck!”

San didn’t let him finish the thought, sliding his hand under the waistband of Wooyoung’s boxers and closing around his aching member. Wooyoung keened in his arms, arching into the sensation.

San tried pumping his hand a few times, but the angle was awkward, so he pried his hands off Wooyoung, earning a whine in protest. He lightly swatted Wooyoung’s thigh. 

“Patience,” he said, and pulled down Wooyoung’s pants and underwear to his knees before wrapping his hand back around Wooyoung’s dick. 

It was hot and heavy in his hold as San stroked up and down the length, smearing precome over the head. Wooyoung fell forward onto San with a whimper, panting into his shoulder and tightening his grip on San’s hair with increasing urgency. San hissed in pain, but he didn’t say anything, finding that he rather liked it. 

He wasn’t sure if Wooyoung had some kind of hair-pulling kink or if he was doing it on instinct, but San couldn’t exactly complain. The sting of his scalp cut sharply through all the hot pleasure, a prickling reminder of how good he made Wooyoung feel, and his ego swelled.

San nosed into Wooyoung’s hair, nibbling the outer shell of his ear. “Feel good?”

“ _Ngh_ , yeah.”

Wooyoung’s breaths were loud in San’s ears, his high-pitched moans even louder, and San craved more. He wanted to draw every sound he could out of Wooyoung’s open mouth, drunk on the other boy’s noises, so he greedily sped up his motions, twisting his wrist around the tip before sliding back down. He snaked his other hand up Wooyoung’s torso and lightly pinched a nipple, drinking in the squeal Wooyoung let out. 

Wooyoung looked like a dream, skin flushed a pretty pink, his hair sweaty and wild, and San took it all in hungrily. The title screen of the movie was playing on repeat in the background, but he barely noticed, addicted to the sight of Wooyoung coming apart above him. Instead of cursing it as he’d done earlier, San welcomed the AC, the cool air a lovely contrast to the heat radiating in his lap, the gentle hum blending beautifully with Wooyoung’s steady moans.

“F- fuck Sannie,” Wooyoung panted, thrusting his hips up to meet San’s hand, his fingers still tangled mercilessly in San’s hair. “I’m so _close._ ”

San thumbed the head of Wooyoung’s cock, spreading the excess precome over the sensitive skin. He closed his lips around Wooyoung’s ear once again, and murmured, “then come for me.”

One, two more pumps of his hand and Wooyoung was shuddering in his arms, biting down on his shoulder, and spilling his release onto their stomachs with a cry.

San waited, stroking Wooyoung through the last of his orgasm, his free hand rubbing soothing circles into his back as Wooyoung came down from his high. Once he’d calmed down somewhat, San tucked Wooyoung back into his pants, and situated the waistband around Wooyoung’s hips, ignoring the mess of come for the time being.

Finally, the younger boy inhaled shakily, and lifted his head from San’s shoulder. Their eyes met and San flushed, the past several minutes just starting to catch up to him. That’d really just happened. Wooyoung was sitting in his lap, half naked, bathing in the afterglow of an orgasm that _he'd_ caused, and San couldn’t do much more than stare in bewilderment at the boy in his arms.

“San?” Wooyoung asked, concern lacing his tone. “You with me?”

San blinked a few times, still processing. “Y- Yeah, I just… wow.”

He must’ve said something funny, because Wooyoung laughed. “It wasn’t that good.” He said, his eyes crinkling.

“Oh really? Because judging from how loud you were—”

“Shush,” Wooyoung said, swatting San’s arm playfully. “It was great. I was talking about you.” Wooyoung leaned to grab a tissue from the end table and took San’s hand into his own, carefully wiping away the come from his fingers. It was sweet, albeit a little disgusting. “I was the one offering to help in the first place and you didn’t even get to…” he trailed off, gesturing to San’s still-hard dick. 

San shook his head, smiling. “It’s okay. I’m fine as is.”

“Still,” Wooyoung huffed, tossing the tissue onto the coffee table. San made a mental note never to eat off of it again. “I feel bad. All I did was sit there, I have to do _something._ ”

That didn’t sit right with San. “No, you don’t,” he said, taking Wooyoung’s face into his hands and squishing his cheeks gently. “Sex should never happen out of obligation, you have to _want_ to do it.”

Wooyoung’s gaze softened at that. “Okay,” he said quietly, shifting further into San’s lap and pressing their foreheads together. When he opened his eyes to look at San, they were suddenly lidded with lust. “But what if I want to?”

San really hoped his gulp went unnoticed, but, judging by the flash of victory on Wooyoung’s face, it didn’t. “What are you thinking?” He asked.

“I’m thinking,” Wooyoung said, trailing a fingertip up and down San’s exposed chest. “I wanna suck you off.”

San swallowed thickly. “You sure?”

Instead of answering, Wooyoung smirked, pressing a quick kiss to San’s lips, then slid down until his knees hit the floor. He ran his hands up San’s thighs, then quickly undid the zipper of San’s jeans.

Immediately, San felt relief. As much as he said he was fine without coming, his dick was so hard it _hurt,_ and the tight pants he’d put on that morning hadn’t been helping. He sighed as Wooyoung leaned forward and mouthed along his cock, the wet heat reaching his skin through his underwear.

When Wooyoung finally pulled him out of his boxers, he groaned, relishing the feeling of Wooyoung’s soft, warm hands on his dick. 

Then, he was sinking into Wooyoung’s mouth.

He’d gotten blow jobs before, but, somehow, knowing that it was Wooyoung’s lips closing around him, Wooyoung’s tongue working the underside of his cock made all the difference. Not to mention the fact that Wooyoung was _unfairly_ good at this.

“Shit, baby, your mouth,” He moaned through gritted teeth, bringing a hand to rest on the back of Wooyoung’s head. He made sure not to apply any pressure, just resting it there, scratching lightly at Wooyoung’s scalp.

Wooyoung hummed around him, the vibrations sending shivers up San’s spine, and sunk deeper, taking more and more of San down his throat. He bobbed his head, tongue swirling around the tip every time he came up for air, then firmly pressing around San when he would go down.

Wooyoung’s mouth was unbelievable, the perfect combination of pressure and heat, and San couldn’t contain the groans spilling from his mouth. It had been a while since he’d gotten any action, and he could already tell from the coiling in his gut that he wasn’t going to last long.

“Feels incredible, babe,” San praised, his grip tightening unintentionally on Wooyoung’s hair. Alarmed, he quickly went to relax his fist, but Wooyoung shook his head animatedly, clasping his own hand over San’s.

He dragged his tongue up San’s cock, pulling off and taking a deep breath. “Pull,” he demanded breathlessly, not waiting for a response before replacing his mouth and sucking on the head.

It seemed he _did_ have a hair-pulling kink after all. Noted.

San tugged experimentally on the strands of Wooyoung’s hair, testing the waters. Wooyoung nodded, encouraging, and San complied. He fisted the back of Wooyoung’s head, savoring the soft hair between his fingers, and yanked.

Immediately, Wooyoung sped up, bobbing his head excitedly and moaning around San’s cock.

The noises Wooyoung made were filthy, loud slurps echoing in San’s ears as his cock disappeared into Wooyoung’s mouth again and again. It was then that San made the mistake of looking down, and almost came on the spot, the sight before him nothing short of obscene. 

Wooyoung’s eyes were hooded, red rimmed and shiny, focused on taking as much of San as he could. There was drool dribbling from the corners of Wooyoung’s mouth where it was stretched wide around San’s girth, creating dark spots as it landed on the couch. His hands gripped tightly onto San’s thighs, creases forming in the material and his knuckles white. Wooyoung looked up at San, staring into his eyes with sinful determination before sinking impossibly lower, his nose meeting the base of San’s pelvis.

“O-oh fuck, Wooyoung!” San cried, throwing his head back and tugging on Wooyoung’s hair. He could feel his dick pressing against the back of Wooyoung’s throat, the muscle convulsing around him. The coil in his gut grew tighter, and he tried desperately not to buck further into Wooyoung’s mouth.

Apparently, he wasn’t doing a good job. “Sorry,” San said as Wooyoung spluttered and choked on his dick after a particularly hard thrust, but Wooyoung took it like a champ, breathing deeply through his nose, and never pulling off. He made eye contact with San, eyes watery, and nodded as if to say _it's alright. I can take it._

San searched for any hesitation on Wooyoung’s face, then, after finding none, let himself go. He grabbed Wooyoung’s head with both hands, keeping it still as he roughly thrust up into the wet heat, a groan rumbling low in his chest.

Wooyoung’s hands scrambled to find purchase on San’s knees, tears pooling in his eyes and mixing with the spit and precome on his cheeks. Once he’d steadied himself, he sat there and took it, opening his mouth wide, no longer bothering to use his tongue as San fucked his face. 

“You’re doing so well,” San panted, his thrusts becoming erratic. It was too much and not enough, seeing Wooyoung on the floor in front of him, taking his cock like he was made for it, and the coil in his gut drew even tighter. “I’m gonna come, baby.”

He released Wooyoung’s head, signaling that Wooyoung could pull off if he wanted to, but Wooyoung only whined and sunk down lower, burying his face in the crook of San’s hips. That was what finally sent San careening over the edge, the coil in his gut snapping. He grunted, arching his back and spilling his seed down Wooyoung’s throat. The younger boy sucked gently, working San through the rest of his climax, before leaning back and swallowing, wiping his mouth with his hand.

“God, I haven’t done that in a while,” Wooyoung said, flinging himself backwards and lying down, arms splayed beside him. His voice was hoarse, but light hearted, and he smiled up at the ceiling.

San laughed fondly, tucking himself back into his boxers and zipping his pants. “I couldn’t tell.” 

He watched as Wooyoung hummed and nodded, his eyes opening and closing slowly. He was cute like this, all soft and happy, and San tried not to remember the sound of Wooyoung choking on his cock.

“Sleepy?” he asked, bending down and brushing some loose hair off of Wooyoung’s sweaty forehead.

“Hmm, yeah.”

“C’mere,” San said, grappling Wooyoung’s limp form into his arms and hoisting him to sit on the couch. He tossed one of the blankets from earlier over them both, and Wooyoung nuzzled into the soft material. San cooed internally at the sight, and wrapped an arm over Wooyoung’s shoulders, bringing him in close. This was bliss.

“That was nice,” Wooyoung mumbled, fighting to stay awake. “Thank you, San.”

“You’re welcome?” San said hesitantly. He wasn’t used to people thanking him after sex.

Wooyoung continued with a yawn. “Not just for the sex, even though that part was great,” he said, patting San’s chest. “I mean thanks for being with me today.” He sniffled, reminding San of why he had come over in the first place.

“Don’t worry about it. I told you before, I like spending time with you.” San said, absentmindedly running his fingers through Wooyoung’s hair. 

Wooyoung smiled softly. “So…” He paused, seeming to deliberate. “Would you wanna do this again sometime?”

San froze, his fingers stilling on Wooyoung’s head. _Wooyong can't be asking him on a date, can he?_ “Do what?” he asked cautiously.

“Like, hang out. Suck each other off, I don’t know,” Wooyoung said, fiddling with a fraying end of the blanket. “Now that you know about my hair-pulling thing, I can’t exactly let you go.” He was joking, but San couldn’t laugh, his worries now confirmed. Wooyoung looked at him with worried eyes. “San?”

“I… can’t,” San said decisively, withdrawing his arm from Wooyoung’s shoulders. 

Wooyoung sat up straighter, his eyebrows creased. “Oh, okay,” he said, a little crestfallen. “Can I ask why not?”

_Because it would hurt too much. Because I want to be more than a friend you fuck sometimes. Because I want to have all of you, and if I can’t then it’s not worth it._ He had already done too much, and as wonderful as it was to have Wooyoung is his arms, he was already regretting it. But if he ended this whatever-it-was relationship between them now, then maybe he could go home and today would fade into a happy memory for when he was alone.

He wanted to say all this and more to Wooyoung, but what came out instead was Because I like you.”

Wooyoung blinked, taken aback. He looked as if he was about to say something, but San plowed forward, afraid he’d never say it otherwise.

“I like you a lot. I have since before we met, honestly. You’re so wonderful, and beautiful, and confident and,” he ran a hand through his hair, “and as much as I would _love_ to do this again, I can’t. I can’t lie to you about my feelings, and I can’t lie to myself.”

“Sannie, I—”

“You don’t have to say anything. I just thought you had the right to know.” San’s voice tapered off as he finished, and he slumped into the couch cushions. There it was, laid bare in front of them. It was honestly a bit freeing.

Wooyoung mirrored him, settling further into the second-hand upholstery, their arms brushing, similarly to how they were sitting earlier. “Since before we met, huh?” he asked, looking straight ahead.

San chuckled lightly, recalling the memory. “Yeah. I’d always see you running late to your classes, jumping over fences and shit. I remember thinking you were unstoppable.”

“I _am_ unstoppable.”

“Yes, you are.”

Wooyoung was quiet for a moment. “So… this whole time?” He asked, watching the title screen of the movie play on repeat.

“Yup.” 

“And you never thought to ask me out?”

San stared at Wooyoung, taken aback. He quickly defended himself. “Well, I certainly _thought-_ ”

“But you didn’t.” Wooyoung’s voice was firm now, the tiniest bit of anger making its way into his tone. “Why didn’t you?”

_Why didn't he?_ That was a good question. “I guess I figured you’d be better off without me. You always looked so happy on your own, so free. I didn’t want to ruin that.”

Wooyoung scoffed, tucking a strand of hair behind his ear. “San, no offence, but that’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard.” He dropped his head, wiping at his runny nose. “I would’ve said yes.”

San tried to meet Wooyoung’s eyes, but the younger stubbornly turned his head away, but not before San could notice the faint blush on his cheeks. “I thought you said you didn’t have feelings for anyone,” San said, confused.

“I didn’t.” Wooyoung said, fiddling once more with the blanket on his lap. “But I’d always thought, if there was one person I’d be most willing to date, it’d be you.” He turned back to face San, his skin a pretty pink in the dim light. 

San’s tongue felt dry in his mouth. “So…”

Wooyoung raised his eyebrows. It was a challenge.

San swallowed, cleared his throat, and sat up straight, looking Wooyoung dead in the eyes. He mustered up all his courage and asked, “Are you free tonight?”

Wooyoung smiled and nodded. “Yes, I am.”

“Would you,” he faltered, and Wooyoung snickered. “Shut up, I’m trying.” Wooyoung only shrugged, still laughing. San tried again. “Would you like to get dinner with me? As a date?”

“I don’t know, I’m pretty sick. I don’t know if I can—”

San smacked him on the arm.

“Ow! Okay, Jesus,” he said, rubbing the sore spot and giggling. It was music to San’s ears. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

Beaming, and overcome with joy, San pulled Wooyoung into his arms. He felt light, like one strong breeze would blow him away, but Wooyoung was there to ground him, the other’s hands coming up onto San’s back and squeezing. 

“I’m serious though, I feel like shit. I’m not leaving this apartment.”

San rested his chin on Wooyoung’s shoulder, breathing in the Cedar Wood smell of his shampoo, and laughed loudly. “We’ll order takeout.

There were two restaurants nearby that offered delivery, a fried chicken store and the soup deli.

They got chicken.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading!
> 
> this is the first time i've written anything even remotely nsfw, so pls lmk what you think!
> 
> <3 minnie


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